From the Back of a Drawer
by Kristen Stone
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Liam is woken up by police raiding his flat. Why? He hasn't done anything. What are they searching for?
_____________________________________________________________________
Liam woke when the sound of someone bashing in the front door of his flat reached his befuddled brain. A string of expletives burst from his parched lips, cursing the noise, cursing whoever was causing it and cursing the fact that he had undoubtedly drunk too much in the pub last night before staggering home and falling into bed. He couldn’t actually remember getting home but the mere fact that he was in his bed showed that he had, somehow, done so.
The door to his bedroom burst open and he was confronted with half a dozen men in black, padded stab vests and visored helmets denoting their status as police officers. Each carried a riot baton.
“What the…?” he started but before he could finish the sentence one of the officers called:
“In here, guv.”
The voice sounded like a woman’s but Liam couldn’t be sure of gender as the ‘voice’ was wearing so much padding. He half sat up, realized he was naked and sank back against the pillows, pulling the sheet up to his chin. Did policemen really call their bosses ‘guv’? He thought that was just something made up for the TV and wondered if he were dreaming and this was an episode of Life on Mars. He half expected Gene Hunt to walk into his room.
The detective who walked into his room was nothing like the fictional policeman. He was taller, broader and looked even meaner. He was the only one not dressed in the standard gear for dawn raids. His suit was crumpled, as if he had not changed his clothes in days, but his eyes were alert. He was used to being up at this ungodly hour. Speaking of which, what time was it? Liam wondered. There was no sunlight trying to get through the curtained window.
“Liam Montgomery?” the suited policeman asked.
“Yeah, what of it?” Liam held back the protests that were on his tongue.
“We have a warrant to search these premises for illegal drugs.” He jerked his head at the officers behind him who promptly stowed their batons and started to pull the room apart. They tipped the contents of the drawers on the floor, rummaged in his wardrobe.
“Hey, watch what you’re doin’,” Liam protested. “Who the hell are you, anyway? What makes you think I’ve got any drugs here?”
Liam hated the use of drugs. Drugs had killed his little sister. He hated the pushers. He hated the addicts. That was the reason he had moved to this god-forsaken place; to try and sort out the pushers. Something the police seemed unable to do.
“Detective Sergeant Kilroy,” the man in the suit said but offered no other explanation. He gave Liam a sour look and then left the room to see what was happening elsewhere in the flat.
Liam got up from the bed, wrapped the sheet around him to preserve some sense of modesty just in case some of the police were women, and followed DS Kilroy from the room. He wasn’t going to let that man out of his sight. He stopped in the hallway and looked at what was left of the front door. He had only been in the flat six weeks. What would the council say?
“Who’s going to pay for a new door?” he demanded. “You’ve got the wrong flat, y’know. I don’t do drugs. Everyone knows that.”
“They do, do they?” DS Kilroy asked. Liam didn’t like the sarcasm in his voice. “Not what we heard.”
The living room was now being searched. Liam watched in disbelief as the video and DVD cases from his collection of favourite sci-fi programmes were tipped out on the floor, the cases shaken and ripped apart to reveal – nothing. Books were tossed from the bookcase. Not his books. Although the flat was supposed to be unfurnished as he had nothing of his own the council had offered to leave the stuff left when the previous tenant had done a moonlight flit, taking only the expensive electrical equipment and leaving the crappy furniture.
Drawers were being carefully opened in the display unit. Bottom drawers first. This time the contents were not being randomly tossed aside but the drawers were being carefully searched as if the searchers knew something. Suddenly one looked up.
“Over here, guv, I think we have something.”
“What?” Liam questioned. “Y’know, that stuff’s not all mine. It was here when I took the flat over. There could be all sorts in there that I don’t know about.”
No one was taking any notice of him. DS Kilroy stalked over to the cupboard being searched. The policeman on his knees prying into the drawer looked up with satisfaction on his face. He pulled something out from the back of the drawer. Something wrapped in plastic. All eyes in the room turned towards Liam. He shrugged. He had never seen the parcel before. That was the drawer he used to store all his bills, and as he had only been in the flat for six weeks there was hardly anything in it. It was hardly the place he would choose to hide anything. Let alone…
He gasped as the policeman unwrapped the parcel to reveal a stash of bank notes. Most of the notes were bundled up with elastic bands, in what quantities was anyone’s guess. Some was loose. There must have been a thousand pounds there. He had never seen so much money in his life.
The policeman had his hand in the drawer again, searching deep into the back of it. He smiled and when he drew his hand out he was holding another plastic bag. This time the contents were revealed to be a dozen tiny bags each containing a small amount of unspecified white powder.
Liam forgot about holding the sheet around him and it fell to the floor as he ran his hands over his face and through his hair. He did not understand what was going on. He had never seen the packets before. He could only guess what they might contain and he did not feel comfortable about his thoughts. He looked around at the police officers who were now closing in on him, cutting his escape route. Someone took hold of his arms, pinning them behind his back.
“Liam Montgomery, I am arresting you…” the caution DS Kilroy intoned barely registered as Liam vehemently protested his innocence.
“Let him get dressed and take him down to the station,” DS Kilroy finished.
From across the road three hooded figures of indeterminate age and gender watched as Liam was driven away just as the sun began to rise.
“Good job,” one of the figures said thrusting his hands deeper into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt. “Will everything stick?”
“Like glue,” said the second, hunching his shoulders so that his neck seemed to disappear. “He was so pissed when we got him back he didn’t even notice putting his prints all over the money and drugs.”
“Won’t a good brief get him off?” asked the third.
“He won’t get a good brief, more like the duty solicitor. Doesn’t stand a chance.”
The second hoodie drew on a cigarette, its end glowing in the dawn light.
“Teach him to try and get rid of us. Come on, we’ve got work to do.”
The three turned away and disappeared into the gloom of the tower block behind them, certain in the knowledge that after a simple phone call they had removed a problem without resorting to violence or any other crime that could rebound back on them. It was worth the cost of a few packs of badly cut heroin and a thousand pounds. There was plenty more where that came from.
Swearwords: None.
Description: Liam is woken up by police raiding his flat. Why? He hasn't done anything. What are they searching for?
_____________________________________________________________________
Liam woke when the sound of someone bashing in the front door of his flat reached his befuddled brain. A string of expletives burst from his parched lips, cursing the noise, cursing whoever was causing it and cursing the fact that he had undoubtedly drunk too much in the pub last night before staggering home and falling into bed. He couldn’t actually remember getting home but the mere fact that he was in his bed showed that he had, somehow, done so.
The door to his bedroom burst open and he was confronted with half a dozen men in black, padded stab vests and visored helmets denoting their status as police officers. Each carried a riot baton.
“What the…?” he started but before he could finish the sentence one of the officers called:
“In here, guv.”
The voice sounded like a woman’s but Liam couldn’t be sure of gender as the ‘voice’ was wearing so much padding. He half sat up, realized he was naked and sank back against the pillows, pulling the sheet up to his chin. Did policemen really call their bosses ‘guv’? He thought that was just something made up for the TV and wondered if he were dreaming and this was an episode of Life on Mars. He half expected Gene Hunt to walk into his room.
The detective who walked into his room was nothing like the fictional policeman. He was taller, broader and looked even meaner. He was the only one not dressed in the standard gear for dawn raids. His suit was crumpled, as if he had not changed his clothes in days, but his eyes were alert. He was used to being up at this ungodly hour. Speaking of which, what time was it? Liam wondered. There was no sunlight trying to get through the curtained window.
“Liam Montgomery?” the suited policeman asked.
“Yeah, what of it?” Liam held back the protests that were on his tongue.
“We have a warrant to search these premises for illegal drugs.” He jerked his head at the officers behind him who promptly stowed their batons and started to pull the room apart. They tipped the contents of the drawers on the floor, rummaged in his wardrobe.
“Hey, watch what you’re doin’,” Liam protested. “Who the hell are you, anyway? What makes you think I’ve got any drugs here?”
Liam hated the use of drugs. Drugs had killed his little sister. He hated the pushers. He hated the addicts. That was the reason he had moved to this god-forsaken place; to try and sort out the pushers. Something the police seemed unable to do.
“Detective Sergeant Kilroy,” the man in the suit said but offered no other explanation. He gave Liam a sour look and then left the room to see what was happening elsewhere in the flat.
Liam got up from the bed, wrapped the sheet around him to preserve some sense of modesty just in case some of the police were women, and followed DS Kilroy from the room. He wasn’t going to let that man out of his sight. He stopped in the hallway and looked at what was left of the front door. He had only been in the flat six weeks. What would the council say?
“Who’s going to pay for a new door?” he demanded. “You’ve got the wrong flat, y’know. I don’t do drugs. Everyone knows that.”
“They do, do they?” DS Kilroy asked. Liam didn’t like the sarcasm in his voice. “Not what we heard.”
The living room was now being searched. Liam watched in disbelief as the video and DVD cases from his collection of favourite sci-fi programmes were tipped out on the floor, the cases shaken and ripped apart to reveal – nothing. Books were tossed from the bookcase. Not his books. Although the flat was supposed to be unfurnished as he had nothing of his own the council had offered to leave the stuff left when the previous tenant had done a moonlight flit, taking only the expensive electrical equipment and leaving the crappy furniture.
Drawers were being carefully opened in the display unit. Bottom drawers first. This time the contents were not being randomly tossed aside but the drawers were being carefully searched as if the searchers knew something. Suddenly one looked up.
“Over here, guv, I think we have something.”
“What?” Liam questioned. “Y’know, that stuff’s not all mine. It was here when I took the flat over. There could be all sorts in there that I don’t know about.”
No one was taking any notice of him. DS Kilroy stalked over to the cupboard being searched. The policeman on his knees prying into the drawer looked up with satisfaction on his face. He pulled something out from the back of the drawer. Something wrapped in plastic. All eyes in the room turned towards Liam. He shrugged. He had never seen the parcel before. That was the drawer he used to store all his bills, and as he had only been in the flat for six weeks there was hardly anything in it. It was hardly the place he would choose to hide anything. Let alone…
He gasped as the policeman unwrapped the parcel to reveal a stash of bank notes. Most of the notes were bundled up with elastic bands, in what quantities was anyone’s guess. Some was loose. There must have been a thousand pounds there. He had never seen so much money in his life.
The policeman had his hand in the drawer again, searching deep into the back of it. He smiled and when he drew his hand out he was holding another plastic bag. This time the contents were revealed to be a dozen tiny bags each containing a small amount of unspecified white powder.
Liam forgot about holding the sheet around him and it fell to the floor as he ran his hands over his face and through his hair. He did not understand what was going on. He had never seen the packets before. He could only guess what they might contain and he did not feel comfortable about his thoughts. He looked around at the police officers who were now closing in on him, cutting his escape route. Someone took hold of his arms, pinning them behind his back.
“Liam Montgomery, I am arresting you…” the caution DS Kilroy intoned barely registered as Liam vehemently protested his innocence.
“Let him get dressed and take him down to the station,” DS Kilroy finished.
From across the road three hooded figures of indeterminate age and gender watched as Liam was driven away just as the sun began to rise.
“Good job,” one of the figures said thrusting his hands deeper into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt. “Will everything stick?”
“Like glue,” said the second, hunching his shoulders so that his neck seemed to disappear. “He was so pissed when we got him back he didn’t even notice putting his prints all over the money and drugs.”
“Won’t a good brief get him off?” asked the third.
“He won’t get a good brief, more like the duty solicitor. Doesn’t stand a chance.”
The second hoodie drew on a cigarette, its end glowing in the dawn light.
“Teach him to try and get rid of us. Come on, we’ve got work to do.”
The three turned away and disappeared into the gloom of the tower block behind them, certain in the knowledge that after a simple phone call they had removed a problem without resorting to violence or any other crime that could rebound back on them. It was worth the cost of a few packs of badly cut heroin and a thousand pounds. There was plenty more where that came from.
About the Author
Kristen Stone describes herself as a frustrated writer looking to conquer the world. Although born in London, she knows all the words to 500 Miles, has attended several Burns Night Suppers and would love to play the bagpipes. She has even offered to change her name to McStone. Those are all good reasons for McStorytellers to grant her the status of Honorary Scot.
Kristen’s website is at http://www.kristen-stone-the-writer.com. Her first novel Kianda Mala - The Monkey Man will be published by Night Publishing later this year. Meanwhile, it can be previewed and downloaded from Smashwords at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/44006.
Kristen’s website is at http://www.kristen-stone-the-writer.com. Her first novel Kianda Mala - The Monkey Man will be published by Night Publishing later this year. Meanwhile, it can be previewed and downloaded from Smashwords at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/44006.